


Learning how to breathe

by Kirjava3456airbender



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, IMO, Other, Purple Prose, flowery nonsense, implied sad ending, just how i like it, no comfort but it honestly doesn't hurt much either, teeny tiny baby drabble, vague and fake deep, written in like twenty minutes and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjava3456airbender/pseuds/Kirjava3456airbender
Summary: Tiniest little drabble inspired by this absolutely gorgeous piece by @WhiteleyFoster: https://www.instagram.com/p/CGxv0rOFqCG/
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 7





	Learning how to breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> Hi yes hello i would die for Whiteley Foster's art

A year is so little to those who have lived thousands upon thousands of lives already. To a human, a year is opportunity and unending future, a human can change everything in a year, in less. To Crowley, a year is a sigh, a moment, a single touch.

But that’s all he has.

“You have a year to make Aziraphale fall, or you will be punished.” And the name looks and feels bitter coming out of Satan’s mouth. Aziraphale, who looks like he tastes like milk and honey, who was born with kindness etched in his face, salvation curled around his hips and lips. Crowley may maintain that his fall was less of a fall and more of a saunter but he still burnt just as much as the other demons and he can still hear his own screams ringing in his ears. Hell lives in Crowley, curled around his ribs and whatever is left of his heart.

He goes To Aziraphale.

He stumbles on his way, smacks against cars and walls and people, still blinded by Satan’s wretched golden light. He tears into the library and his vision clears when he looks at His Angel, pouring over books before looking up startled. Aziraphale tilts his head in confusion and Crowley’s chest tightens with unmeasurable fondness.

“Crowley? What are you doing here?” And it is weird, usually they don’t look for each other, they just happen to stumble upon each other, but tonight is different and Crowley feels like he’s burning again but this time the hurt is much sweeter than it has any right to be. If Crowley were a braver snake, maybe if he still remembered the touch of G-d on his face or if he was any less in something that feels like love but can’t possibly be because he’s a demon, he may have told Aziraphale about the deal he made with Satan. But Crowley isn’t any of those things. Instead he smiles and his fangs snag on his lips and the blood pearls.

“I’m on vacation, for a year, so I decided to come bother my favorite angel for a while.” Aziraphale blushes and something sharp and bubbling twists in Crowley’s gut.

A year is nothing more than a sigh, but Crowley would endure centuries of punishment for a sigh with Aziraphale.


End file.
